Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of borrowers.  It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse.  And so he lay in wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears listening, and his hands in his pockets.  This explains his attitude toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and was the reason for his attempt to escape by taking a cab.  But luck was against him, and he tried to decline the unspoken request in another way.

“Do not be surprised,” he said, with the volubility with which a man speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a word, “that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that evidently was not directed against him.”

“Neither against him nor against his ideas.”

“I know that; you do not need to defend yourself.  But I have so much friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that touches him affects me.  And how could it be otherwise when one knows his value, and what a man he is?  This life of mediocrity that he lives, in order to be free, is it not admirable?  What a beautiful example!”

“Not every one can follow it.”

“You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?”

“I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day.”

The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words.  They had walked down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice.

“I think that at last I am going to find a cab,” he said, precipitately.

But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel.

And Saniel began: 

“You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I wish to talk to you of a serious affair—­on which depends my future.”

“This is a poor place for serious talk.”

“I do not find it so.”

“We would better appoint some other time.”

“Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?”

Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could be in the circumstances.

“I await your pleasure,” he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast to his former one.

Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently walked by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement.

At last he spoke.

“I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which I wish to speak to you.  I can tell you all in a few words:  If I am not able to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be obliged to leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go and bury myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor.”